


If we should ever meet again

by Tomlinsontoes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Chance Meetings, Fate, Harry is hopelessly in love, Louis is sort of rude at first but he has his reasons ok, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Things escalate rapidly of course, Top Harry, just a little something, so I could get my creative juices flowing again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:18:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomlinsontoes/pseuds/Tomlinsontoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know the kid I told you about like a couple years ago? The one in Times Square when I went to your house. I think he's in my class, I  legitimately think Hot Beanie Boy is in my drawing class," Harry huffs, surrendering to his work and shutting his book.</p><p>He hears Zayn sigh and meet his eyes. "Harry, I love you, you're my best friend, but do you really, like really think that this kid who you quote fell in love with is in your class? Isn't that like fate or something...something you don't believe in."</p>
            </blockquote>





	If we should ever meet again

**Author's Note:**

> Very quick little something because I was bored and needed to write.  
> Sorry if there are errors I wrote it in one sitting and didn't have betas.

The streets were always crowded at this time of year. Hell, it was Times Square and Harry always did his best to avoid these blocks. Next to spiders, tourists were probably his least favorite thing on the planet. But he had to house sit for his best friend's family while they were on vacation somewhere much warmer than New York City. They happened to live in the heart of Times Square...rich bastards.

Thank god for headphones and his favorite playlist that allowed him to cancel out the myriad languages and other sounds that would have otherwise plagued his ears. _No, nobody wants to go to your shitty stand-up comedy show_ , he thought to himself as he passed a man handing out fliers. Honestly, he doesn't even look for oncoming cars anymore and just  _knows_ when he can cross the street without getting hit. He's got shit to do, and he's not going to waste it waiting for some scared tourists to get out of his way.

Why people came from all over the world to gawk at huge advertisements, was beyond his comprehension. Ugh. Capitalism. Zayn owed him big time for this when he returned. He better bring him a fucking hot foreign guy from the island he's visiting — it's the least he could do, besides actually taking Harry on the family trip. He was practically their adopted son anyway.

He keeps to himself, with his eyes straight ahead, never looking around, but his gaze falters when some asshole decides to stop in the middle of the sidewalk—really, who does that—to take a photo and Harry walks full speed into him.

Harry murmurs "asshole," and continues on his path, his head tilted a few degrees more to the left than usual. It's all he needs to have the cold December air feel like it's pulsing through every vein in his body...it's enough for his breath to stop momentarily.

Harry is a facts sort of guy. He doesn't believe in fairy tales or miracles, or love at first sight, made up things. He likes cold, hard facts. 

Until he catches eyes with a stranger wearing a pale blue beanie and checkered scarf around his neck. It's only seconds, ten at most, but in those ten seconds Harry felt like each was a minute. Like he was caught in this weird state that allowed him to slow down time so that he could catalog every detail of the stranger. From the slight redness on the tip of his nose from being outside too long, to the flash of super white teeth and the quick dart of his tongue over his chapped lips. Then just like that, time is back to normal and the stranger is out of sight.

Love. He definitely, 100% just fell in love.

Now it's Harry's turn to block the chaotic flow of foot traffic as he only stops for a second, enough time to get hit with shopping bags and elbows. He shakes his head and pulls his own beanie down and moves on his way.

* * *

 It's been two years and one spring since then, and Harry has almost all but forgotten about it.

Almost.

"Promise not to think I'm crazy?" he asks Zayn as they sit cross-legged in their living room (Harry makes sure to constantly thank Zayn's parents for letting them rent one of their many apartments at a discounted rate.)

"Little late for that, but go on," Zayn jokes as he jots something down in his notebook. Harry doesn't even protest his friend's comment.

"There's this kid—"

"I'm going to stop you there, because all of your crazy stories begin with 'there's this kid,'" Zayn says looking up at him, pencil mid-sentence.  _  
_

He doesn't look annoyed like some people might, when, well, yeah, a lot of Harry's stories have to do with boys, but this one is totally different.

"This is totally different," he says sighing. They've been doing homework for over and hour and so far all Harry's been able to write is one sentence. 

The spring semester had just started and Harry was eager to get that much closer to his degree. After coming back from studying abroad in Wales, he was a little agitated to be back in New York, with it's  _newness_ or whatever. He was also displeased that in order to graduate on time, he'd have to take one more elective class. A class he's been putting off since he begun. He didn't see the reason to pay thousands of dollars for school, when he wanted to learn, and only learn about his major, not some random fluff classes.

He had two (terrible) choices, mythology or drawing, and seeing as mythology seemed just as bad as taking a religion class, he opted for the latter.

"I had my drawing class today," he starts and his mind flashes back to a few hours before now where he sat in a room of about forty people, all who looked like they actually wanted to be there.

"okay..." Zayn nudges him with his knuckles.

"You know the kid I told you about like a couple years ago? The one in Times Square when I went to your house. I think he's in my class, I  legitimately think Hot Beanie Boy is in my drawing class," Harry huffs, surrendering to his work and shutting his book.

He hears Zayn sigh and meet his eyes. "Harry, I love you, you're my best friend, but do you really, like  _really_ think that this kid who you quote fell in love with is in your class? Isn't that like fate or something...something you  _don't_ believe in."

"Zayn I swear to you, I think it's him," Harry says biting his lip. He knows he sounds crazy, fucking mental, but he can't even begin to describe the way his stomach did somersaults when the kid walked into the room. Harry gasped, before his brain could even process it. His eyes knew who it was before the rest of him did. It was the weirdest feeling, like he had already had some deep connection with him years (lifetimes?) before, even though they've never uttered a single word to each other.

"Well, regardless...if he's hot you should talk to him anyway," Zayn suggests as he gets to his feet. "You could do with getting laid."

Harry made it his mission to sit next to him next week in class. That was the (now) terrible thing about the elective, they only had it once a week. That gave him seven days to practice what he was going to say and do...and wear. 

When next Wednesday rolled around Harry was absolutely shitting himself as he walked to the building that the class was held in. He figured he'd get there marginally early, but not late enough that he didn't have seat options. He remembered that the kid walked in five after one, so Harry planned on getting there a few minutes after that.

To his surprise, Hot Beanie Boy was already settled in a seat when Harry walked in at 1:07, and the seat next to him at his desk was open. Perfect.

"Is this seat taken?" Harry asks with his best smile.

It takes a moment for the guy to register someone is talking to him, and he looks up at Harry from his sketchbook, then around the room (to the many open seats) and shakes his head 'no' and goes back to his drawing.

"That's really cool," Harry says pointing to the sketch of the Brooklyn and London Bridge morphed together.

"Um, thanks," he says back. His eyes still glued to his work.

"Are you an art major then?" Harry inquires as he settles into his seat.

"Yup," he says blandly and puts his pencil down with what Harry can only describe as annoyance. "Look, uh, can we just focus on the assignment and leave the chitchat to another time?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Harry says taken aback. _Why are all of the hot ones assholes?_ he thinks to himself as he looks up at the front of the class to the posted assignment: Combine two historical structures as one only using a H and 9B pencils. You have the whole class period. 

Right. He actually had to draw in his drawing class. Slight problem. Harry _couldn't_ draw. He thought the class was more about the history of drawing, not actually  _drawing_ itself. Fuck. 

"Sorry to uh, bother you..." Harry says biting his lip, "didn't realize um fuck, I'm an idiot, can I borrow your pencils?"

The boy stops again and this time Harry sees his lips purse and brow furrow. An audible sigh jets out of his mouth, "seeing as we have the  _entire_ class period," he says making a show of sliding his pencils closer to himself, "why don't you just run to the bookstore and pick up a pack of the shitty kind they have there? I'm sure it'll be more than enough for your uh...skill level."

"Right. Thanks," Harry says stumbling to get out of his chair.

:::

"He's officially the douchiest person I've ever met," Harry grumbles as he walks into his and Zayn's apartment. "Zayn did you hear me?"

"Unfortunately, yes, I did," Zayn's voice comes from the kitchen and by the way his voice is muffled, he's eating something. "Cookie?" he offers Harry as he walks into the room. Harry takes it and shoves it into his mouth.

"Think it's too late to drop the class and sign up for something else? We actually have to draw, like draw, draw!" He protests then goes into his story about what happened.

"So then  _not_ your soulmate?" Zayn smiles as he jumps off of where he sat on the counter. "Maybe he just got dumped and is in a shitty mood," he suggests when Harry's frown doesn't go away.

"Maybe," Harry sighs.

::

It's not until their fifth week of class that gives them a reason to talk. Their assignment for the following week is to draw their desk partner in a setting that isn't their classroom. Surely, they'll have to say something since they'll have to agree on a place and time that works for them both.

"Meet me at the top of the stairs at Morningside Park Saturday at 10 a.m.," he says slinging his bag over his shoulder and sliding out of his seat.

"Um," Harry stutters just long enough to let him walk away and out the door. "Ok then. Good decision," he says to himself.

A quick Google search lets him know the park is in Harlem, very out of the way indeed. But he stays positive, hoping one, that he'll finally get a name, and two, he'll be in a better mood on the weekend.

Before Saturday rolls around, Harry researches better drawing tools, and finds an art store not too far from his apartment and buys some new items. He hopes for what they cost, he'll magically become a better artist. Long shot. At least he has his other classes, his  _real_ classes to distract him until then.

 

The park is pretty busy when Harry arrives and tries to figure out where the steps are. Clearly not the set of three he just walked up. He decides to ask an older woman if she knows where they are and she points him in the right direction. Unfortunately, the way Harry walked leaves him at the bottom of the enormous set of stairs. So he climbs.

"Shoulda came in one street over and you wouldn't have had to climb," his partner says once Harry comes into his view.

"I..." he huffs, "didn't know that," He slumps onto a stair a few below his partner and catches his breath.

"Wanna do me first? Or me you?" He asks and Harry can't help but to smirk.  _God_ the things he would do to him.

"Why are you such an ass to me in class?" Harry asks instead. "I don't even know your name."

His partner seems to be pondering his question as he takes his supplies out. He's wearing a black Nike hoodie and matching sweat pants and a pair of black Vans and somehow makes it looks amazing even though Harry guesses he wore it to bed.

"Louis," he finally says, "look at me."

"My name's Harry," Harry says offended.

"I meant  _my_ name is Louis," he rolls his eyes, but Harry catches a small smile as he faces him. "Stay still, smile if you want, but you'll have to hold it."

Harry does as he's told and stays still with his resting face. He tries to slightly smile so it doesn't look like a mugshot. "You didn't answer my other question," Harry says about ten minutes later.

"Don't move," Louis says huffing as he erase something. "You just..." he trails off for another three minutes and huffs a small laugh. "You remind me of someone."

They catch eyes for a moment, just like Harry swears they did two years ago and hopes Louis can confirm it.

"You look exactly like my ex-boyfriend," Louis says losing eye contact. "Well, not exactly, he had blue eyes and shorter curlier hair...but it's weird."

Harry gulps, hands suddenly sweaty in the cool spring air. "Oh," is all he manages to get out.

 "Yeah. Sorry," he says biting his lower lip, "was sort of a rough breakup and I guess I take out my leftover frustration on you since you resemble him," Louis says.

"I'll dye my hair or something," Harry jokes and he sees Louis stop drawing and smile at him. "Come on...draw me like once of your French girls," he says shimming his shoulders.

Louis throws his head back and starts cackling an amazing laugh that Harry wants to just bottle up and use whenever he's sad. It's so loud that a flock of pigeons near them take flight and disperse into the blue sky above.

Louis' still laughing as he wipes the corner of his eyes and picks his pad and pencil up, "holy shit, that was good," he chuckles. "You're funny."

"Thanks," Harry smiles a huge grin at him, "keep hanging out with me and there's loads more where that came from."

While Louis draws Harry, he opens up and starts talking about himself which makes it easier for Harry to stay still and absorb everything he's being told. Harry doesn't even realize that Louis' stopped drawing as he's so focused on the way his lips are moving as he speaks.

"Let me know what you think, you're a really good subject to draw," Louis says handing him the notebook. "I think it'll look good when I color it in later."

"Wow," Harry says looking at it, "Louis...this is, fuck, wow, you're amazing," Harry gawks at the pencil work. "It looks better than what I actually look like," he laughs.

"Nah, I think the real you is better looking," Louis coughs. "Your turn."

"I must admit something, I can't draw," Harry says as his cheeks flush, "like I literally cannot draw anything. I thought this class was more like history based."

Louis laughs and grabs his notebook back, "I could tell from that horrible fruit bowl you drew. Freud would have been proud though."

"It's not my fault they put oranges next to a fucking banana!" Harry protests with a laugh. "Honestly, don't waste your time here, I'll just bullshit something."

Louis gets up and sits next to Harry and grabs his supplies, "what if I help? I've had this professor before, it doesn't have to be my entire face, just draw what you want."

Harry settles on just drawing Louis' eyes, something he can sort of manage to not screw up. He starts babbling about himself as he works, his drawing not nearly as amazing as the crystal blue eyes he's being allowed to stare into.

With Louis' help...okay, with Louis taking the piece from him and basically redoing it, Harry has a pretty nice photo drawn.

"Why my eyes?" Louis asks as he finishes his shading and hands it back to Harry. Their fingers brush and Harry takes a breath.

"Because they're gorgeous," he says before he knows he's saying it. "Sorry," he blushes and shuts his notebook.

"Don't be," Louis whispers. "I changed my mind, you're not like him, at all."

It takes Harry a second to remember what Louis' talking about, "can I prove it more?"

"Are you asking me out?" Louis inquires, knocking his knee against Harry's.

"I am," Harry courageously says. "Would you like to go out on a date with me?"

Louis answers by pecking Harry's cheek with a kiss and jumping to his feet. Harry follows and gets up as well, walking a step behind him down the long staircase. 

Something comes over Harry about two-thirds of the way down, maybe it's his hormones or something, but he uses his long legs to catch up to the same step Louis is on and stops him where he's standing. He kisses him. Full on kisses Louis right then and there against the cold stone of the stairs, in front of God knows how many people. The best part is, Louis kisses back and pulls Harry into him by his shirt.

Some part of Harry knows that Louis  _is_ the boy from Times Square, each swipe of his tongue is telling him the truth. This is all too perfect to not be exactly what was supposed to happen. 

"I have to ask you something," Harry says breathlessly as they part for a moment, "two years ago...December 18th-ish, were you in Times Square?"

"How do you know that?" Louis asks with wide eyes and a still body. "I was there for my birthday, it's the day before Christmas."

"It was you, fuck, it was you, I knew it it was you," Harry squeals and kisses Louis again. "I saw you, and you were wearing a beanie and a Burberry scarf and you fucking took my breath away, and then you were gone."

Louis doesn't look freaked out, instead he's smiling a huge grin, "call me crazy, but I think...I think I do remember you. Your eyes look so familiar."

Harry leans in and kisses Louis again, bringing his body into his, trying to memorize every curve and dip. 

"I've been waiting two years to find you," Harry says. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"I just, fuck, I just realized, all of this time...I've been looking for you, Harry." Louis smiles. "Subconsciously or whatever," he laughs.

::

They go on a date Sunday and they can't keep their hands (and lips) off of each other. Something about them just clicks and Harry's not going to question it even though his brain is trying to force him to question everything. 

That night, Louis takes Harry home. 

"I don't usually do this on a first date," Louis says breathlessly as Harry pins him against the front door and kisses his neck and jaw.

"I can stop," Harry huffs and Louis almost screams in protest. 

Louis leads them to his room and they stumble into the dark room as if they've drank bottles and bottles of wine, not wanting to tear their bodies apart.

If Harry thought Louis' eyes were beautiful, he was in for a real treat when he got undressed moments later.

"You're gorgeous, like, so fucking gorgeous," Harry says pulling Louis in by the waist as he sits on Louis' bed. He kisses his stomach, the muscles fluttering with each press of his lips as he moves further and further down his body. He scoots back slightly, palming at Louis' briefs, dying to take them off, too.

"We don't have to like...fuck," Louis' words are jagged as he pushes his hips forward into Harry's hand. "Unless you want to..."

"I do, but not if you don't, I promise it's fine if you just want this," Harry says pressing his lips to the front of Louis' shorts.

"I want to, I want to," Louis says placing his hands in Harry's hair and tugging.

Louis lets Harry fuck him, said he deserved it for being so patient for waiting two years, Harry laughs when he says it, because he's three fingers deep and Louis' above him making jokes. He really is perfect.

He pulls Louis into his lap when he starts begging and helps ease him onto him. They fit perfectly, like every cliche out there and Harry feels overwhelmed by how good Louis feels. How perfect everything feels. Nothing has ever felt like this, as if stars have aligned just for this very moment. He doesn't mind being a cliche. 

He can't keep his hands off of Louis' body, his skin is so smooth and kissable, and he wishes he had more than two hands so he could touch every single inch. They kiss while Louis bounces in his lap, twisting his hips in all of the right ways, causing Harry to curse and moan into his mouth or into his shoulder as he bites the skin.

Louis comes first, the warmth hitting Harry's stomach as soon as the choked sob escapes Louis' lips and he spills between them, shaking, but strong as he doesn't miss a beat in his own movements. Harry lays him back and spreads his knees and thrusts as deep and as hard as he can, while Louis makes the most amazing sounds he's ever heard.

He comes groaning Louis' name and shaking uncontrollably. 

"I think I love you," Harry says falling to the open side of the bed, breathless and tired. 

"I won't object your statement with talk about endorphins if you promise to spend the night and make me breakfast," Louis says turning on his side and kissing Harry's cheek.

"I can't cook," Harry laughs, "but I'll learn if that's all it takes to wake up next to you."

 

 

 

 


End file.
